When In Amsterdam, Do As The Amsterdam…ian…er…ites… Do.

One of the things that came with being a “sampler’s pack” of backpackers was that we all had differing agendas. We tried to overlap them, but this led to some, let’s say, conflicts of interest.

Southern Belle went on the offensive and planned her days on her own. We agreed to give each other our itineraries so we could find each other, then went our separate ways.

I found the Van Gogh and Stedelijk museums, the Waterlooplein flea market and some great music all with ease, but definitely continued to be reliant on directions and help from strangers. I’ve always thought it was obnoxious when Americans expect people to speak English, but it’s so pervasive in The Netherlands that it was genuinely shocking when someone didn’t speak it.

Met a group of Australians at the Heineken brewery tour. Depending on your goals for the day? Either adamantly avoid, or fervently cling to, Australians in a giant building full of beer.

*Author’s note: there may or may not actually be an Australian sport called “Squigeradoo.”

Between the long hair and my penchant for ratty sweaters, leather jackets and not shaving very often, I was approached by the drug dealers constantly. It was ironic, because my “Amsterdam = drugs” focused colleagues looked like they were, at any moment, about to tell you about the benefits of Amway. They may be the only people in the history of Amsterdam to having trouble scoring pot.

I’d found us another hostel for the second and third night. The beds had sheets. It had showers. After dinner and a shower so great I thought I’d cry, I decided to go for a walk on the second night.

One of my favorite things in new cities is to just walk around. But I did a very dumb thing. I tried to use a physical landmark to remember where the hostel was. I told myself…

If you’ve never been there? Yeah, it’s pretty much all canals. It’s one of the things it’s known for.

I got very lost. And it got very late. I couldn’t even blame anyone this time. Soon I was in an area that would be like the Red Light District of the Red Light District. Where dominatrices go to really cut loose. I found that the best way to get left alone is to look bored; another day at the grind. So I looked bored. Bored, bored, bored. Ho hum. It was, I think, one of my better acting performances.

When I finally found my way back – probably more because of covering every block of the city than because of getting re-oriented – I took another shower; this time in need of a more metaphoric cleansing.

The third and final night I stayed very focused on where we were in relation to the hostel.

The next morning we packed up to return to England.

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About The Byronic Man

Recently voted "The Best Humor Blog in America That I, Personally, Write," The Byronic Man is sometimes fiction, sometimes autobiography. And sometimes cultural criticism. Oh, and occasionally reviews. Okay, it's all those different things, but always humorous. Except on the occasions that it's not. Ah, geez. Look, it's a lot of things, okay? You might like it, is the point.

Just to clear up the confusion- someone from Amsterdam is called an ‘Amsterdammer’ in Dutch. We always were a bit strange…
Good post, especially liked the bit about your friends trying to score some weed hahaha, can’t believe anyone would that find that a difficult task (not that I’d know..)

I spent most of my time in Amsterdam sick from food poisoning. Apparently, you shouldn’t eat raw meat sandwiches (what the hell were those?). The Red Light District grossed me out, but I’m a woman and was mostly sober. And I got lost and nearly killed by bicycles numerous times. Stupid American.

You phonetically wrote in Australian accents? That brings such joy to my morning, thank you a thousand times! The stick drawings are always great.
And yes, how is it that those “landmarks” don’t really seem to work when you’re navigating parts of Europe? I did the same thing in Dusseldorf by using a statue of a man on horseback as my marker (there might well be millions of those statues in little squares around) and my only saving grace was finding someone else from my group.

Yeah, in Holland, teens who smoke pot have a certain style of dress. In the seventies it was a raggedy hippie slash Vietnam war army surplus clothing. I wore that stuff but I didn’t smoke pot. That was possible. But generally no the other way around. When an American exchange student–dressed so dorky-prissily it was funny–told me she smoked pot, I almost fell off my chair in surprise.

In some ways it’s the one’s who’ve repressed their wild side you have to watch out for. They get in to an environment where they give themselves permission to cut loose and suddenly it’s all venereal diseases and tattoos.

Hey, I wonder if you were in the Red Light District the same day we wandered in with our 8 year old son! We were looking at the New Kirk which is on the right side of the road and the storefront with gyrating women was on the left. Somehow, the building’s architecture didn’t keep Jacob’s interest. (Or my husband John’s, either.)

Amsterdamians. I relate. I’m from Connecticut and unless you just call me a Yankee, I cringe at the choices of Connecticutian, Connecticuter …. ite .. Oy.

The bulk of the northeast seems to have that issue. Delawariers? Massachussettites? To me, Connecticut is simply “The place with the Mark Twain house, and where David Letterman gets all those speeding tickets.”

Oh yes, I too have been lost in that fair city and wound up in the same place.Safest spot in town, really–the famous police HQ used to be on the Warmoesstraat, right there in the heart of the Red Light district.

You’re right about the canals, but where we both went wrong is this: A’dam is built in concentric circles. You apply the American grid system to this paradigm, you get lost.

Hm, that’s interesting about the circular structure. And I remember seeing policeman and wondering if that’s kind of a disappointing job there. “Hey! Stop that!” “Why? Is it against the law?” “Uh… probably not…”

Oh, you would be so much fun to travel with. Getting lost is the best way to get to know a place. I’m glad you were able to keep your “outside” kool and not come away with to many scarred for life memories.

Paris: great city to wander in. Not only is there going to be amazing, beautiful things everywhere, but if you get tired you know there’s going to be somewhere with fantastic food to sit and people-watch.

God, to be young again! And wander around looking for canals and pot! I love the line, “We want to smoke the pot!” Good thing you didn’t actually end up going to Evergreen. I do believe they sold pot at little kiosks on campus, right in between the prayer beads and Starbucks lattes.

This is funny B-man. I especially loved the Australians. There have been times when arriving at a hotel that they were leaving, introduced themselves and gave us a card in case we ever need a place to stay. Friendliest people next to Wisconsinians, Wisconsinites? (I know it’s Madisonians) Cheeseheads!

Brilliant, stick figures to tell the story. I can’t say anything I would reveal to much about my frequent trips to my favorite city and the deal I made with my bosses at the time about no random drug testing after my return from said city for 6 months. Since I visited frequently for work, well I went for nearly 7 years with not a single drug test.

Catching up on my blog reading tonight. Sorry I’m late to THIS party. Is there any weed left? I would like to smoke the pot.

I bet you and I would have been mistaken for the same person in our college years. I too preferred ratty sweaters and leather jackets. And if your stick figure drawing is any indication of hair length, we were twins.

I was in Amsterdam once on a stopover between flights. That was a forced march through the city just to capture as much as possible in a few hours I had until my next flight. And my march passed the Red Light district sometime around 7 am, when it was, shall we say, rather work appropriate. The only red lights at that district were my eyes after the red eye flight that took me to Amsterdam.